Something Like Your Family
by Luan Mao
Summary: The Dursleys weren't exactly a model family
1. Something Like Your Family

Many have wondered what would have happened in JKR's universe if her title character had thought a little. Here's a little tale of one particular little thought striking him.

**Something Like Your Family**

_October 31, 1991_

The students filed out of the Transfiguration classroom. Ron Weasley complained to Seamus Finnegan, "It's no wonder no one can stand her. She's a nightmare, honestly." Hermione ran off in tears, bumping into Harry as she fled into a girls' room. Harry might have done something — Granger was just as much an outcast as he was and he hated bullies and, as a life-long target, could sympathize with the victims — but by this point he wasn't going to lift a finger for anyone in Gryffindor.

* * *

_November 1, 1991_

The school was in shock from the troll attack and Granger's death in the girls' bathroom. Harry's emotional isolation and self-control left him with an expressionless face while most others were looking weepy or stunned. (Or, in a few cases, furtively gleeful.) The search for someone to punish began even before DMLE investigators arrived at the school.

Professor McGonagall was in the thick of interviewing the students in her triple roles as Deputy Headmistress, head of the deceased girl's House, and the professor whose class the girl had last attended. "Tell me, Mr Potter, why didn't you stop Mr Weasley from upsetting Miss Granger? You hardly seem distressed over last night's events, and now I wonder what you had to do with this tragedy."

"I didn't have anything to do with it. Weasley insulted Granger and she ran into a bathroom."

"I have reports that she went to you first and that she ran off only after you rejected her."

"What? Who told you that? She knocked into me when she ran away, that's all."

"Nevertheless, you could have offered her some comfort. At the very least you could have reported the incident to me. Your indifference then and anger now do not reflect well on you, Mr Potter."

"Brown and Patil were right there, too. They could have followed Granger into the _girls'_ bathroom and offered her some comfort. Or Weasley could have, you know, not insulted her so that she'd run away crying."

"Mr Weasley's actions are not being reviewed right now. Yours are. You have utterly failed to live up to the standards of Godrick's House. I can only imagine what your parents would have said. Given your anger and rudeness today and your failure to report Miss Granger missing at supper last night, it is fitting that you have a month of detentions assisting Mr Filch during the supper meal. If you perform your duties to his satisfaction he will provide you with a cold supper afterward."

Harry knew what this meant. He'd be working all evening for a month and not eating from lunch until breakfast.

* * *

_September 5, 1991_

"Hey, Harry! Want to play some chess?"

"No, thank you. I have some homework to catch up on."

"Aw, that can wait. You need to spend some time with your friends."

"No, I really need to do my homework."

"What's the matter, Potter? You were friendly enough on the train but now you don't have the time for me. What's the matter, I'm not good enough for you now? Oh, I get it. Malfoy talked to you and now you think you're a high and mighty poncey boy just like him."

Harry didn't bother to interrupt. He'd learned as a small child to let tirades run their course. Any defense from verbal abuse usually led to physical abuse.

* * *

_September 2, 1991_

The owl landing in his breakfast surprised Harry. He already knew that owls carried wizards' mail — with an owl of his own, how could he not? — but couldn't imagine that anyone would be sending him anything.

_Come down to me cabin by the big oak tree after class today. Got sumthing fer you. — Hagrid_

Hagrid made a bit of small talk over poisonously strong tea and inedible baked goods before getting to the gift.

"When I heard how the Dursleys treated yeh, not tellin' yer nothin' but lies 'bout yer parents, I stared askin' 'round to see if I could find yeh somethin'. And a friend o' yer mum's gave me this."

"This" was a glass ball somewhat smaller than Harry's fist. Within it floated the image of a pretty red-haired woman.

"My mother?" Harry asked in a shaky voice.

"Shake it and yeh'll get a differen' picture."

Harry left sometime later with happy tears in his eyes.

* * *

_September 12, 1991_

The first flying class was both a break from routine and not a break from routine. It was exciting for Harry to be doing another purely wizarding thing. And it was good to get out of the castle on a nice day. But the walk out and the wait for the instructor was ten more minutes in which Harry had to listen to Weasley telling the most outrageous lies about him. Ron had taken Harry's "rejection" of his friendship very badly and showed it by tearing Harry down at every opportunity. No one seemed to believe the stories — it was already obvious that Harry wasn't paying people to do his homework for him and it was unlikely that he rubbed his own feces in his hair to make it stand up like that — but most of them laughed along with Weasley and a few told lies of their own.

Harry didn't fight the rumors. He'd learned back on Privet Drive that gossips don't care about truth or fairness. And any attempts to argue just gave them more grist for their mill.

But Harry had missed two differences between Hogwarts and Privet Drive. Here, there was no place to get away from the gossips. And here, the verbal bullying could more easily spill into physical bullying.

The flying lesson started off poorly enough. Neville Longbottom fell off and broke his wrist early on. Madame Hooch hustled him off, leaving the other students and brooms unattended with nothing but a threat to keep them on the ground.

The idle students occupied themselves as they would. Weasley told his ridiculous stories loudly enough for everyone to hear. Harry took out his picture globe for a moment of comfort. He found himself doing that a lot lately.

"What's this, Potter?" Draco Malfoy had snatched the globe out of Harry's hand while he was distracted. "Looks like a seventh year girl you've got a crush on."

"It's his mother," Weasley put in. "But maybe you're right. The way Potter is, nothing would surprise me." The two foes shared a rare laugh.

Harry was weighing his chances. Weasley and Malfoy were larger than he was, and Crabbe and Goyle were larger than Dudley. Lighting the tip of his wand or changing a matchstick into a needle wouldn't help him. He wouldn't let any of that stop him. The globe was all that he had of his parents. "Give. It. Back."

Malfoy began a childish taunt but something in Harry's eye stopped him. "You want it back? Fine! Catch it!" He threw the fragile ball toward the castle before Harry could grab it.

Quicker than thought, Harry leapt on his broom and sped after the globe. With a last-minute roll he caught the ball before it hit the stone wall, and a sharp turn kept himself from hitting the wall.

"Mr Potter! Get off that broom and follow me."

McGonagall introduced Harry to a lanky upperclassman. "Mr Wood, Mr Potter will be your seeker this year."

Wood looked at Harry skeptically. "He's got the build for it, but I don't know about those glasses."

McGonagall and Wood discussed Harry's prospects and abilities and availability for practice with only a single comment directed to him.

"You'll have to buy yourself a broom, Potter. The school brooms aren't suitable for a seeker at all. Nimbus just came out with the 2000. It's expensive, but that's what you need to get."

"Wait a minute! I don't want to play quidditch. I have enough to do just with homework."

The other two stared dumbfounded at him for a moment before launching into a high-pressure torrent of words. "Great honor", "Owe it to your House", and "Ungrateful" featured prominently.

McGonagall got the last word. "Mr Potter, I clearly heard Madame Hooch tell you that anyone picking up a broom in her absence would be expelled. If you don't accept the great honor of being selected for your House quidditch team then I will not stand between Madame Hooch and your expulsion."

Hogwarts wasn't as bad as living with the Dursleys. Grudgingly, Harry nodded.

* * *

_December 6, 1991_

A thunder of feet passed on the landing above Harry.

"Hey! Catch!"

Having been the victim of this kind of prank before, Harry dodged the tossed item. It didn't do him any good. The container smashed on the steps above and splattered him and everything else with striped red and gold paint.

"Potter! What is the meaning of this? I'll see you expelled for this, you little vandal." Snape was in fine form.

Harry was trying to have his protests heard when McGonagall stormed up. "Mr Potter! Painting the Slytherin table in Gryffindor colors is _not_ the way for you to finally show pride in your House. Clean these stairs and the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, and then you may serve a week's detention with Professor Snape."

There was no point in protesting. McGonagall never looked below the surface, never saw past her easily-wounded House pride.

* * *

_October 18, 1991_

"Mr Potter, stay behind a moment. I am going to have to give you a zero for the day's work because not only did you not turn in the week's assignment, you barely participated in the day's lesson."

Harry had done the homework, but no longer had it by the time class started. And he hadn't participated because his arm and wrist were very stiff and he couldn't do the swishes and flicks properly. He didn't tell McGonagall this. She wasn't much interested in listening. And, in fact, she didn't give him time to say anything.

"And, speaking now as your Head of House, I've noticed that you haven't been fitting in. I have heard many complaints that you do not make even a token effort at making friends with other Gryffindors. Furthermore, Mr Wood has told me that he has to drag you to almost every practice. And don't get me started on the number of points you've lost, young man! I want to hear your reasons for not being a proper member of your family here at Hogwarts. Well? Speak up."

"Have you heard what Ron Weasley has been saying about me? He got mad because I didn't want to play chess one day, then started telling lies about me every day. Everyone else laughs at me and tells their own stories. And I told you from the first day that I don't want to play quidditch."

"Perhaps if you hadn't isolated yourself from your Housemates they would stand up for you better. You have no one but yourself to blame if they are not taking your side. As for quidditch, you agreed to be a member of the team. That was a binding commitment and I will not allow you to drop it.

"I am taking ten points from Gryffindor for your poor attitude and assigning you a week of evening detentions with Mr Filch. Use that time to think about why you can't get your homework done and why you are losing so many points. I want to see you spending more time with your Housemates. You need to decide what is important to you if you are going to get anywhere in life."

* * *

_October 17, 1991_

"Potter, come here." A mob of his Housemates accosted Harry as soon as he entered the common room from Sprout's detention. "We need to talk about your attitude."

Faced with eight other students, all larger than he and including the female fifth-year prefect, Harry had little choice.

"Listen, Potter, we all know you're the Boy Who Lived and that your family was rich, but you can't ride that your whole life. You need to learn to get along with others, help others, and be a real part of Gryffindor House."

"All this year you've been a self-centered jerk. You're acting like you're too good to spend time with us."

"And you're not helping anyone with homework. You should be sharing with others if you get it done first."

"What's your problem with quidditch, huh? It's a team sport and you're not acting like one of the team. It takes everyone to win but only one to lose."

"We're not happy about all the points you're losing. I don't know what your problem with Snape and McGonagall is, but you need to get over it."

Harry had never been in this position before. The Dursleys had insulted him and yelled at him about his many shortcomings, real or imagined, but they'd never kept up this relentless barrage. Harry was disoriented and felt his ego being crushed.

"Stop it!" In the momentary gap he continued, "Who's helping me? No one! Who's being my friend? No one! Why should I help you if you don't help me?"

Harry had learned at the hands of the Dursleys not to raise his voice, not to show that he was upset, not to fight back. He'd forgotten that lesson because he thought things were different. But people are people and bullies are bullies.

After his Housemates were satisfied that Harry had learned his lesson, the prefect healed the visible marks on his face and warned him, "What happened here stays in the House. Don't go running to McGonagall or anyone else. They won't believe you anyway, with all the trouble you cause."

Just like Privet Drive.

* * *

_September 15, 1991_

"Hi. Are you working on the Potions homework? Can I join you?"

The Hufflepuffs smiled up at Harry and made room at their table in the library. He had chosen this group partly to make friends with people he didn't already know and partly because one of the girls was pretty.

After minimal introductions, the group got right back to the essay. The Hufflepuff work ethic started early. But the homework was done soon enough and was followed by some quiet getting-to-know-you chat.

… until Seamus and Dean and Lavender and Parvati came along. "Hey, Harry, what are you doing with the Puffs? You're supposed to be sticking with us. Come on, we need to get that Potions essay done before class tomorrow."

"No, I'm fine where I am. I'm making some friends. We've been done for an hour already while you guys were goofing around in the common room."

"You're all done? Great! Give it here. Want to play some exploding snap after we're done copying it?"

The ensuing scuffle ended up with Harry's homework ripped up, Hannah splattered with ink, and both groups banned from the library for three days. The Hufflepuffs kept their distance from Harry after that.

* * *

_November 9, 1991_

The first quidditch match went off as scheduled. There was no delay on account of the death and the following investigation, showing what was really important to the school.

Wood's practices has been brutal for the past week, especially for the first-year Seeker who had never been on a broom until two months before. "One hundred more rolls, Potter! You've got to sit that broom like it's a part of you."

Harry had told the quidditch players repeatedly that he didn't want to play. They couldn't seem to understand that. He had tried skipping practice but all that meant was that the entire team would hunt him down wherever he was in the school and cuff him toward the practice field. Harry soon showed up and did the practices because resistance didn't make any difference except for being more painful.

Wood had mentioned Harry's lack of a broom at least once a week. Harry had done some research. A Nimbus 2000 cost well over a thousand Galleons. He didn't know exactly how much was in his vault, but he did know that was everything he owned. He wasn't going to use a big chunk of it for something he didn't need and didn't want.

On the day of the match Wood gave a speech on the importance of winning this game for the pride of Gryffindor House. Harry was not the only one not stirred by the emotional appeal, though the Weasleys took the route of mocking the speech while Harry was simply unmoved.

Though Wood did take the time to single Harry out. "Potter! Why haven't you gotten yourself a better broom? I told you two months ago that the school brooms aren't good enough for a seeker. If we lose this match because of you…" The rest of the team joined in the threatening scowl, with the twins smacking their beater bats into their hands.

The match went poorly for the Gryffindors. Wood stopped most of the shots at the goals, but there were so many that he couldn't stop them all. The chaser line lost one member and then another to hard bludger strikes. For all their skill, the Weasley twins were not doing much to protect them.

Harry did his orbits, looking for the snitch. Frankly, he couldn't spare much attention for it because he was constantly on the lookout for bludgers. "Hey, Potter! Keep your eyes on the snitch!" Fred yelled, batting the iron ball his way to get his attention.

In the end, Slytherin won the match with a crushing score, 390-80. Harry had tried valiantly to grab the snitch, but Higgs's broom was twice the speed of Harry's and even if Harry had seen it first he wouldn't have been able to reach it first.

The rest of the team was not happy with the result.

The only good that Harry could see was that they left him near the showers and he could wash off most of the blood before having to walk through the school. And it was only his quidditch uniform that got torn up, not his own clothes.

McGonagall stopped Harry on the way from the locker room to the infirmary. "That was a disgraceful display. In all my years at Hogwarts I have never seen such a lackluster performance by a seeker. I shudder to think what your father would have said. Now tell me why you did not buy yourself a better broom, Mr Potter! I know for a fact that Mr Wood told you two months ago that it was your responsibility to equip yourself properly."

"Professor, I need to see Madame Pomphrey."

"That will keep. First you need to be taught a lesson. Since you don't seem to know what to do with a broom," and she conjured an ordinary broom, "sweep the halls and stairs in this wing. I will check on you in two hours."

When Harry finally made it to the infirmary, Madame Pomphrey fussed at him over the scrapes and bruises and loose teeth. She became very cross when she found the broken arm. "Why didn't you come to me directly with this arm, Mr Potter? If you'd come to me straight after the game I could have healed it easily. Now I'm going to have to vanish the bone and re-grow it. Here, change into this hospital gown, young man. You're in for a long and painful night and several days here recovering. Don't worry, I'm sure your Housemates will give you their class notes and the homework assignments."

Harry didn't bother to correct her.

* * *

_September 1, 1991_

"… while you are here, your House will be something like your family …"

Harry's eyes popped wide, then narrowed in thought.

* * *

_December 22, 1991_

Harry hid in the bathroom in King's Cross Station until he was sure the Dursleys had left, if they'd even shown up to collect him. He would change his gold for real money and find himself a real school.

Harry's _family_ in Little Whinging had starved him. Worked him like a slave. Beaten him. Spread rumors about him. Used him as a scapegoat. Kept him from having friends.

Harry's _family_ at Hogwarts was just the same.

To hell with them all.


	2. Greater than Your Family

Greater than Your Family

_September 30, 1992_

"Sit, Mr Potter."

McGonagall was clearly annoyed. She'd curtly ordered Harry to her office when she saw him refusing the request of several of his first-year Gryffindor classmates for homework help.

"Explain to me, Mr Potter, why you are intent on repeating your mistakes of last year. I must warn you that if you do not learn to fit in and work with your peers, you face a life of isolation and failure."

"What mistakes? I help Colin Creevey in his work. That's more help than I ever got last year, even when I asked. What more do you want?" Harry knew he shouldn't have risen to McGonagall's baiting, but she'd been on his case since she first saw him a month ago and he was getting tired of it.

"I _want_, and expect, you to begin volunteering answers in class. If you are able to help Mr Creevey, then you clearly know the material. I would expect nothing less, as this is your second time through first year. There is no reason for you not to take every opportunity to earn points for Gryffindor House.

"Furthermore, I expect you to treat the members of your house like your family. Spend your free time with them and if they need your help, give it."

"And they'll treat me like family, too, right?"

It hadn't taken long for Harry to lump most of the new Gryffindor first years into the same category as most of the older Gryffindors, which was the same category as the Dursleys. Scum. Worthless scum, whose insults could be ignored because they came from scum.

"Of course."

Harry nodded. There was nothing more to say.

...ooo000ooo...

_September 1, 1992_

"Decided to return, did you, Potter?"

"Came crawling back with your tail between your legs?"

"No," Harry replied firmly. "I found a better school for last Spring. Dumbledore kidnapped me and made me come back here."

The late-night conversation in the Gryffindor common room went downhill from there. To hear them talk, it was Harry's fault that Slytherin had won the house cup competition last year. And Harry was an embarrassment to Gryffindor courage because he ran away after losing his first quidditch match last year.

Luckily, some of the upper-year students used healing spells. Harry was able to make it to breakfast the next morning, for his first meal in three days.

...ooo000ooo...

_July 11, 1992_

Harry stared at Vernon, face blank. Dumbledore had brought him to Little Whinging after the Weasleys' house caught fire.

Vernon glared at Harry, purple face anything but blank. "Absolutely not!" he roared at Dumbledore. "I told you a month ago: You freaks took the freak boy away. He's your responsibility now."

"Calm yourself, Mr Dursley," Dumbledore replied with such placidity that he _must_ have been doing it to infuriate Vernon. "Surely you do not mean to deny Harry a place with his only remaining family, and I must insist you keep him in your house for the remainder of July and August. Rest assured, Harry will not be allowed to perform magic during his stay here. You need not fear 'freakishness', as you put it."

Thanks a lot, Harry thought. Once he'd realized that Dumbledore planned to leave him with his "family", he'd immediately formed a plan to threaten them with putting another tail on Dudley if they didn't treat him properly. That plan was scuppered now.

Sure enough, he was thrown into the smallest bedroom and Vernon was installing locks before the dust had settled from Dumbledore's departure. His trunk had been taken away, burned, for all he knew, or set out as rubbish. At the moment it didn't matter. Harry was spitting blood into his garbage can and wiggling his teeth to see if any had been knocked loose.

The only saving grace was that he'd kept his invisibility cloak wrapped around his waist like a belt. It had been the only way to keep Mrs Weasley from taking it away from him "for his own good". For all he knew, the cloak was his only remaining magical item, valuable item, or legacy from his parents.

Hedwig had been out when Dumbledore came for Harry. She should be smart enough to find him, but also smart enough to stay away until September. Harry wasn't worried for her; odds were, she'd eat more and work less than he this summer.

...ooo000ooo...

_November 27, 1992_

Harry stood vigil in the infirmary wing, sitting in the one rickety chair near Colin's bed.

Colin had been attacked three days ago. Now he was stiff like he was dead, lying on a bed with his arms sticking up in the air. And he wasn't breathing. Like he was dead.

No one seemed to care.

No one had told his family. When Harry wrote a letter himself, he was stopped by a professor waiting outside the owlery.

No one had told Colin's classmates or even his dorm mates. They had to deduce what had happened, then the others had left Harry to look into it.

Harry had asked Madame Pomfrey why Colin's body was still here, not sent to his parents. "Tosh," she had replied. "Mr Creevey's parents are muggles. What would they do with him? Sending Mr Creevey home would do nothing but frighten them."

Colin wasn't a friend, exactly. Certainly not a boyfriend, no matter what that idiot Malfoy said when he made a special trip to the infirmary just to cause trouble.

An ally, maybe. Colin had been the only one of the _courageous_ Gryffindors willing to go against the opinion of the rest and publicly associate with Harry. A few other first year Gryffs talked to Harry in private but faded away if anyone looked. Only Colin was willing to partner with him in class and sit with him in the library after their upper-year "family" members had made clear their opinion of Harry's "treason". Harry had helped the (rather slow) boy with his classwork and Colin had helped Harry by being a witness – a witness with a camera – when anyone attempted to bully Harry or get him in trouble with the teachers.

Now Harry sat by Colin's side out of some sense of obligation. Even some sense of common decency. Colin hadn't even made it to twelve years old and no one cared.

Eventually Harry came to a decision. He stood and left the infirmary. He had people to talk to. Perhaps he'd have come to a different decision if he hadn't been hearing _kill blood kill_ in his head off and on for a month. He was probably going crazy, but maybe his subconscious was telling him something.

Some of the students – purebloods, mostly Slytherins – had been crowing for the past month about the coming death of the _mudbloods_. It looked like they'd moved from talk to action.

The school's "adults" – all purebloods – weren't taking any action. They didn't care. The muggleborn and muggle-raised needed to look out for each other.

...ooo000ooo...

_September 1, 1992_

"Now, Mr Potter, explain to me why you failed to make your way to the Hogwarts Express this morning and forced me to waste my evening to fetch you."

Professor McGonagall must have seen the locks on "his" bedroom door when she'd broken into the house to bring him to school. He'd heard her unlock them all before she ordered Harry to gather his possessions and accompany her to Hogwarts. Had McGonagall forgotten that already? Probably. One of the professors at his real school had told Harry that wizards changed their memories to fit what they wanted to believe.

Before they found his school trunk, they'd been interrupted by Vernon and Petunia returning from their two-day trip to bring precious Dudders back to Smeltings. The Dursleys had ordered the witch to leave their home before switching gears and ordering her to take Harry away and never return.

Here in McGonagall's office, Harry didn't say anything. When they came in through Hogwarts' front doors, he'd told McGonagall that he had been locked in his room with no food for two days. Earlier in the summer, that crazy elf had brought in a supply of food in exchange for Harry's readily-granted promise not to return to Hogwarts. That food was long gone. Harry had gotten used to eating three times a day at Nichols School, so the elf's food had gone to augmenting the one small daily meal the Dursleys allowed him, and had lasted barely a week.

McGonagall didn't care. Maybe she thought he was lying. She told him that if he'd been on time for the Express, he'd have been able to eat his fill at the Welcoming Feast.

If McGonagall wasn't going to listen to anything he said, there was no point in saying anything. If she ignored evidence seen by her own eyes, there was no point in attempting to persuade her of the truth.

"Well, Mr Potter? Speak up if you do not wish to again be expelled from Hogwarts."

"I wasn't expelled last year! I left on my own! I don't want to be here at all."

A moment later, Harry kicked himself. He'd planned to keep his mouth shut no matter what McGonagall said. But really! That was too much.

"Nonsense! It is unthinkable that a wizard would not attend Hogwarts. What would your family think?

"And on the subject of your family, how did you manage to spend your entire inheritance in less than a year? When we went to deduct your fees for this year from your vault we found it had been closed. How do you expect to make it to adulthood, having squandered all of your gold?"

"I don't see how that is your business, Professor. It was my money and I used it how I thought best."

There was no way Harry would tell her he'd invested almost all of his money. Professor Sloan, a muggleborn wizard who'd left the magical world, had recognized Hedwig as a post owl and taken Harry under his wing. He'd given Harry lots of advice and had helped him put most of his money into safe bonds and set up interest-bearing accounts for the rest. Harry wasn't set for life, but he'd have money left by the time he finished school. If he'd continued on the expected path, paying the Hogwarts tuition as well as vault fees, he'd have been broke by the time he graduated.

But he wasn't going to tell anyone in the magical world about his assets. He had no doubt that they'd be looted to pay for an "education" he didn't want, and leave him with nothing.

"Hogwarts will be loaning you the funds for your tuition this year and your remaining years at Hogwarts," McGonagall told him. "This is a courtesy normally extended to needy muggleborn who are not able to afford schooling at Hogwarts. You will be required to repay the loan after graduation. Furthermore, I expect you to be at the top of your class this year. The loan pool is limited, and allowing you to attend this year means that some muggleborn was unable to."

Harry started to retort that if they wanted him to go to Hogwarts, then they could bloody well pay for it themselves. He wouldn't be forced to pay for an "education" they were forcing on him.

He kept his mouth shut. One of the lessons taught at Nichols School for Boys was keeping your mouth shut unless you had something to say, and not saying anything you didn't mean to say. True, this wasn't an official part of the curriculum. It was taught by the older students mocking the younger, or smacking them in extreme cases. Harry had learned quickly. He had a temper, but he'd learned as a small child not to say anything that people in power might take offense to.

"You will be repeating your first year, Mr Potter. You completed only four months of education and then wasted the last eight months. There is no possibility that you are ready to rejoin your erstwhile classmates in Second Year. Furthermore, as a First Year, you will not be allowed to re-join the Gryffindor quidditch team."

Again Harry kept his silence. McGonagall was a typical pureblood: anything he did in the non-magical world didn't count. Mr Sloan's observations and advice were spot-on, as usual.

...ooo000ooo...

_March 17, 1993_

Harry and Gareth sat back down at the table in the library with Kristen and Gareth's cousin Anwen. They were working together on homework and studying for tests, which were not being postponed despite the attacks. DADA was especially difficult because Lockhart's Defense quizzes and homework were just tests to see who'd made it through his books, which were impossible to read without laughing. It was too bad they had such a useless teacher, but Quirrell had apparently disappeared without notice before the end of school last year. As may be, Defense on top of the other work was enough to keep the students in the library all evening.

All evening except for bathroom breaks, of course. They were only human.

They always went in pairs, for protection. Harry had been the first to start pushing the muggleborn (and -raised; he was including himself among the at-risk) to band together and look out for each other. He was pleased that someone else had suggested the buddy system.

With careful selection of his buddy, Harry had more than a second pair of eyes, to watch for danger. He had an alibi.

...ooo000ooo...

_June 16, 1993_

Even before the announcement, rumors of Ginny Weasley's disappearance had already spread throughout the school. There had been the message on the wall, seen by many before that hallway had been closed off. And there had been the hysteria of her four brothers.

No, the confirmation of her disappearance was no surprise. What was a surprise was the announcement that the school would be closing immediately.

No. Harry and his muggleborn allies conducted a conversation of frowns and nods while the other students twittered amongst themselves. No, it wasn't a surprise. Malfoy had been found and restored within hours. All of the other victims had been muggleborn, and were still in the infirmary and the school carried on.

Harry couldn't bring himself to care much about the missing Weasley. She hadn't bullied him when he was at the Weasleys' over the summer, but she hadn't done anything to help him, either. Here at Hogwarts, she was just a very quiet classmate who barely talked to him. And she was a Weasley.

No, he didn't particularly have anything against Ginny Weasley, but he couldn't help feeling a bit of satisfaction at her brothers' anguish. He'd promised himself that Fred, George, and Ron's bullying and Percy's indifferent superciliousness would be repaid, and, well, here they were.

The announcement just confirmed what Harry had been noticing, that the purebloods were the only ones who really mattered here. Harry had told his associates what Professor Sloan had told him, that the laws weren't biased and there was no official discrimination, but what mattered was how the laws were enforced. The minister and all of the Wizengamot were rich purebloods, and he'd heard that all of the managers at the ministry were purebloods. So far as Harry could tell, all of the Hogwarts professors and the board of governors were purebloods, and their bias was plain.

No, working within the system to reform it wasn't going to do any good.

He and his allies could leave the magical world, either leaving the British Isles or just leaving the magical world. That's what Professor Sloan at Nichols School had done. He still used magic and he knew enough about the world to give Harry a lot of good advice, but he didn't have much to do with other magic users.

Leaving would get them away from the purebloods' tilted playing field. But it would leave the next generation of muggleborn at their mercy. There had to be a better solution.

...ooo000ooo...

_March 18, 1993_

Even before the announcement at breakfast, all of the students knew that Draco Malfoy was missing. Older students – cynical muggleborns – commented on the efficiency of the Hogwarts gossip network.

Professor Dumbledore asked everyone in the school to look for any more petrified students.

Even before the announcement at lunchtime, all of the students knew that a petrified Draco Malfoy had been found and brought to the infirmary.

Draco Malfoy walked into the Great Hall for supper that night.

Colin, Justin, and Penelope were still in the infirmary, still petrified. Colin and Justin had been there for almost four months. This did not go unremarked by the muggleborn.

A select few muggleborn and -raised students knew that Draco had been petrified by a particular charm needing more power than skill. Harry had the power and a seventh year Hufflepuff (muggleborn, of course) trained him in enough skill. The other petrified students (and ghost) had probably been attacked with some other spell. Harry and his associates did nothing to enlighten the other muggleborn students who were shooting dark looks toward the Head Table. Whichever spell had been used, Madame Pomfrey or the professors could have cured the students if they'd wanted to.

...ooo000ooo...

_June 22, 1993_

"No, Harry, it is not acceptable for you to stay with the Creeveys or some other foster family for the summer. You are showing a disturbing tendency to run away at the first hint of difficulty with those around you, and you must learn to overcome that tendency."

Dumbledore had called Harry up to his office the day after the petrified students had been returned to life, and five days after Ginny Weasley was brought back from wherever she'd been taken.

"You will learn to find your place in the world only by first accepting your place in your family. The magical world is your greater family, but your difficulties, last year and this, in fitting in will only grow worse if you do not accept both your actual family and your greater family and your destiny.

"You must stay with your family when you are not at Hogwarts. If the Weasley's home is rebuilt before the end of summer, you may be able to spend a few weeks there."

Dumbledore wasn't listening to Harry's reasons for not going back to the Dursleys' house. He'd told Harry that "surely your memory is mistaken" when informed that the Dursleys had fed him only one small meal per day when he was there the previous summer.

Harry had one more line of argument. "Headmaster Dumbledore, you are the headmaster of a school, who kidnapped me and forced me to attend your school. Who are you to tell me where to live when I'm not at your school?"

Dumbledore frowned over his glasses at Harry. "I am also the head of the Wizengamot and an advisor to the Minister for Magic. You will do well to remember your place, as well as my own. None of my actions with respect to you has any purpose but your own good. In the absence of appropriate gratitude and acquiescence from you, rest assured that I can swiftly obtain a decree or a law to force your obedience."

Harry stopped talking. He shouldn't have bothered even trying.

...ooo000ooo...

_July 6, 1992_

After a totally unexpected and totally unwelcome squeezing, Harry found himself in front of a crazily lopsided house. Dumbledore let go of his shoulder and ushered him toward the door.

"Molly, I have at last found the missing Mr Potter. There were some difficulties in having his relatives care for him over the summer. Rather than press the issue with them, I wondered if you'd be willing to take him in until school resumes."

"Of course, Albus. Welcome, Harry. The boys are out but maybe you remember my lovely daughter Ginevra. Ginny, show Harry up to Ron's room. He can carry up his trunk now and I'll bring in a cot later."

Harry recognized the woman now. She'd helped him a little last September, but she was Ron's and the twins' mother. Hardly a recommendation.

"One moment, Molly, if you would. Harry, I have a gift for you, an inheritance from your father. I had intended to give it to you over the winter, but your disappearance made that impossible, and nearly made me break my promise to give it to you when you were eleven."

Harry took the soft package without comment and in particular without thanks, which drew sharp looks from the two adults. If being found and kidnapped by Dumbledore was the price of receiving his inheritance, he'd just as soon have done without. He'd been happy attending the Nichols School last semester, and perfectly happy to pay the small fee to stay there for the summer and not have to see the Dursleys. He'd been anything but happy to have been pulled away.

The girl, Ginny, led Harry up three flights of stairs without saying anything, without even looking at him. Probably she didn't want to have anything to do with him because her brothers had told her all the slanders the Gryffindors had repeated about him. He couldn't spare any thought for it; he needed all of his attention and all of his breath to get his trunk up all those stairs. If he hadn't been forced to leave his normal school books behind, he'd never have managed it.

The room was unimpressive, and barely big enough to hold two boys. And orange. Harry wasn't happy about being back with the snoring fart machine, but this was better than the Dursleys'. It would do until he managed to escape and get back to his real school.

After Fred, George, and Ron returned to the house and made their displeasure known, Harry revised that opinion.

Harry's present turned out to be an invisibility cloak. Very interesting. Very useful. Harry wouldn't be able to get his trunk out of the house quietly, so he took just a backpack load of the most treasured items and left the house under his cloak.

He was gone less than four hours before Dumbledore caught him.

Mrs Weasley tried repeatedly over the next several days to take Harry's cloak, saying it was too valuable to be used by a child. She told him it was illegal to use magic or magic items away from school. She told him that, as a guest in her home, he must do what she told him.

"I'm not a guest, I'm a prisoner and you're my jailer."

The Weasley boys didn't like hearing that description of their mother and leapt to her defense.

Three-on-one odds were hardly fair. For the three. The survivor of "Harry Hunting" wasn't able to decisively beat them all, but he got in more hits than he took. There was no way for so few attackers to pin him down.

Not until their mother got into the act, hitting Harry with a jelly-legs jinx from behind. He couldn't help going to the floor, but he managed to knock a pot full of hot food off the stove and onto Mrs Weasley's legs. In the confusion that followed, he got a beating from the three boys but they forgot about his cloak.

The next day, Harry donned his cloak of invisibility again and crept into the twins' room, carefully avoiding the many squeaky boards. He found a huge stash of prank materials and an even larger stash of potion supplies. Stirring them all together should be pointlessly destructive, just what the doctor ordered.

Stirring them all together unexpectedly started a small, hot fire which quickly became a large, hot fire. Harry ran out of the room, fetched his trunk, and exited the house as quickly as he could, heedless of noise.

...ooo000ooo...

_June 30, 1993_

Harry sat on the broken chair, once again locked in "his" bedroom.

The Dursleys had not been happy when Dumbledore had again appeared on their doorstep with Harry.

Harry had not been happy.

Harry had planned to disappear from the Hogwarts Express into London, using his magic cloak to hide from Dumbledore or anyone else who would try to keep him under control.

He might as well not have bothered. He'd barely stepped onto the platform when Dumbledore walked right up to him and grabbed his arm. The cloak didn't make any difference at all.

Ten minutes later, Harry had been lectured yet again, Vernon had been subtly threatened yet again, and Harry had been locked in "his" room yet again. His cloak and wand were with the rest of his magical possessions, and the trunk was magically sealed until September 1 "to remove temptation".

Now, four days later, Harry had been fed three times. His emergency supply of dried fruit and meat was locked in his trunk, out of reach.

On his eleventh birthday, Harry had been filled with excitement about the new world that had been opened to him. The abuse of the students and staff had taken that from him within a month of starting school. After that, he'd been filled with disgust and indifference. Now even indifference had been taken from him.

_Hate_ was what filled him now. Hate for magical society. Hate for those raised in magical society.

Harry made use of his enforced solitude. He practiced keeping his hatred under control. _Using_ his hatred to keep him focused, and to take his mind off his hunger.

Harry would tear the magical world down and piss on the rubble.

He'd let them take him back to Hogwarts. He'd learn all he could. He'd make all the useful allies he could. Then he and his army of muggleborn would destroy the government and the powerful families, and then build a better world on the ruins.

They'd protect the muggleborn. They'd protect the house-elves.

The purebloods? The ministry? The Hogwarts staff? To hell with them all.


	3. Altogether Like Your Family

**Altogether Like Your Family**

_August 6, 2009_

"Good morning, Mrs Nott. We're ready for you. If you'll come this way, you can disrobe and the doctor – that is, healer – will be with you directly."

Astoria followed the white-robed mediwitch – that is, _nurse_ – with some measure of embarrassment and a considerable measure of distaste … and an overwhelming measure of desperate hope. She was twenty-seven years old, in her eighth year of marriage, and childless.

The Little Squirts Fertility Clinic served a niche market. Certainly, they served the broader market as well, but their staff was all aware of magic and the clinic's specialty was assisting witches to achieve the blessing of motherhood, and they accepted galleons just as readily as muggle money.

It had been noticed a few years before that the pureblood birth rate had fallen off a cliff. Families which had continued in an unbroken line for centuries were in danger of dying out. Fertility charms and the specialty treatments available at St Mungos were no more successful than the traditional method of creating children.

Before panic could fully take hold, rumors began to circulate of a new group of healers who used new techniques – _muggle_ techniques, the whispers said – to achieve success. Of course, no proper pureblood woman would be seen within a mile of such an establishment.

So, when they went, they wore concealing hats and made sure no one was looking. None would openly admit even to having heard of the clinic, but directions were whispered from witches with swelling bellies to witches with flat bellies.

Pureblood husbands, urgently in need of an heir, disguised themselves and followed their wives, then followed the humiliating instructions of the white-robed healers.

Parents were so happy to finally have children after years of trying that they didn't notice, or pretended not to notice, that the little girls always looked like dark-haired versions of their mothers. The fathers shrugged off their daughters' appearance, assuming that of course a little girl would resemble her mother more than her father.

It took at least two years from the birth of the first child before it was obvious that the new generation was entirely female.

...ooo000ooo...

_August 6, 1993_

"Boy! You get back here!"

Harry kept walking. He'd kill "Aunt" Marge if he had to deal with her for even one more minute.

"How dare you walk away from me? Ripper, go get him!"

Harry ran as fast as he could, considering his hunger, but he'd barely gotten started when the cur had latched onto his oversize trouser leg.

Before Harry could do more than shake his leg a time or two, a giant black dog burst out of nowhere. It clamped on Ripper's neck and ripped him away from Harry's leg before bounding away.

"Ripper! My baby! You, Boy! You get my Ripper back!" Marge was heading up the street at her full drunken sprint, two or three miles per hour.

Harry ran after the black dog. He didn't care what Marge wanted. He wasn't rushing to get Ripper back. He was rushing to make sure Ripper was dead. He'd see if he could bring back the head as a present for Marge. "This is all I was able to find. I'm so sorry for your loss."

Harry caught up to the two dogs in a neighborhood park.

The black dog was waiting for him. He shook his head sharply, then dropped Ripper's body at Harry's feet.

"Good boy. Uh, I don't have any treats for you, but you can eat Ripper if you leave me the head."

Much to Harry's surprise, the dog blurred and then a shabby man stood before him. "No, thanks. I'd rather go vegetarian."

The conversation that followed was both enlightening and infuriating.

...ooo000ooo...

_February 7, 1998_

Amelia Bones's death announcement in the _Daily Prophet_ shocked magical Britain. The Minister for Magic had been murdered. She had been murdered in her home, through bodyguards and ancient wards. Worse yet, her death had been "nasty".

On top of the other deaths in the past six months, this was very upsetting to the law-abiding majority of the wizarding populace. On top of the deaths of other important people, it pushed the leadership of magical Britain fully into panic.

...ooo000ooo...

_May 5, 1994_

"Harry, do you have time to help me with long division tonight? I'm just not getting it."

"Sure, but it'll have to be after 7:30. History of Magic study group is from right after supper until 7 and then real history study group until 7:30. Can you ask around and see if any of the others are having trouble?"

About half of the Muggleborn students had taken Harry up on his offer to buy textbooks for regular school classes. Without instructors, the students did the best they could in learning the material and helping each other.

As usual, today Harry was sitting with his group of Muggleborn students at lunch. _One_ of his groups of Muggleborn; not all of the students got along with each other, but Harry made certain to get along with them all. Their potential contributions toward his goals were more important than little things like personality conflicts. This was just one bit of the Black family wisdom that his godfather had shared with Harry in the few weeks before school started.

Harry had returned to school in September on Sirius's advice. Perhaps they could have gotten away from Dumbledore's control. That wouldn't have accomplished anything. It wouldn't have made anything better. It wouldn't have gotten back at Dumbledore or the school bullies or anyone else who had wronged Harry, let alone those who had wronged Sirius.

Harry's goal hadn't changed. He was going to destroy magical society.

His plans had changed. The Blacks had centuries of experience in manipulating people and events, influencing from behind the scenes rather than setting themselves out in public.

Sirius had pointed out the flaw in the initial plan of killing everyone who had hurt him. "How many do you think you can kill, Harry? Three or four? Maybe a dozen? Or maybe none? The ruling families' houses have wards, and the Minister has bodyguards."

Harry was willing to die – what did he have to live for? – but not until he'd gotten his revenge.

Not a word had been said about Harry's goal being _wrong_. Sirius had his own grievance with magical Britain.

Now, eight months later, eight months in the magical world later, Harry hated the magical world as much as he ever had. More, now that he'd learned more and lost more. His hatred had been honed and refined, more dangerous than ever.

...ooo000ooo...

_June 28, 2005_

"You! Mudblood! Bring me another drink."

Harry, in disguise, watched as the muggleborn wizard serving as a waiter at the Fudge Family Summer Soiree let the insult and the contempt roll off his back. The young man's mission was more important than any momentary annoyance.

The calming potions for all staff before starting the job helped.

"Ben, have John mix the next one with double the whiskey," Harry instructed the waiter. "If the esteemed head of the Thomas family gets more alcohol in him, maybe you won't have to get him a drink every ten minutes."

"And if we're lucky he'll pass out and shut up."

Harry, the company owner, sometimes supervised an operation, if the event was important enough. In practice, if the party had a wizard on his special list, Harry would make sure he got plenty to eat and drink.

Special attention to important guests was one of the reasons that business was steadily increasing for PB Catering. The chance to see mudbloods acting like house-elves was another, and the excellent discounts sealed the deal. The pureblood elite jumped on the chance to show their superiority and sophistication for all their affairs.

Pureblood elites weren't the only ones jumping on PB Catering. Hogwarts graduates had limited legitimate careers open to them unless they had family or sponsors. That meant, of course, that most of the good opportunities went to purebloods and to halfbloods with connections. And there were only so many jobs as clerks in magical shops or as permanently low-level artisans.

The muggleborn weren't easily able to return to the muggle world, either. Seven years of Hogwarts did not leave a new adult ready to join the workforce except as a laborer, and not at all ready for university. The self-study lessons which Harry had organized, in English and maths and other useful subjects, helped, but not enough. Only a few students were able to both do their magical work and keep up with their non-magical peers.

Enter PB Catering. With cooks and buyers and caterers and administrators and office staff, Harry's company had become a leading employer of muggleborn wizards and witches in the magical world. The work was not steady, but it paid well enough to live on and it was better to be sneered at a few days per month than to be sneered at every day while taking care of customers in a shop.

No one outside of the group of revolutionaries knew that all of the most important positions were filled by Harry's sworn followers as they graduated from Hogwarts.

...ooo000ooo...

_September 7, 1993_

Harry reread the letter, irritation growing. He'd tried three times now to inform the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that he'd caught Peter Pettigrew on the evening of September 1 and would like them to come pick him up.

He'd gotten three responses from three different people, all saying that Peter Pettigrew had been dead for twelve years. The letter in his hand came from Amelia Bones, Director of the DMLE, telling him to stop bothering the DMLE or he'd be arrested and that it was only his fame that kept her from arresting him today.

This was very frustrating. The only way he and Sirius had thought of to clear Sirius's name was to turn the traitor over to law enforcement – in front of witnesses and cameras, of course – so they'd realize they'd convicted the wrong wizard.

The incompetence of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement killed that idea. This was a recurring theme.

...ooo000ooo...

_June 19, 1999_

"Well, guys, this is the last chance for us all to get together. In case I don't catch you tomorrow morning or on the train, just let me say that it's been an honor and a privilege. Your hard work, dedication, and willingness to sacrifice—"

"Cut the crap, Harry," Karen interrupted. "We aren't a band of heroes, we're a bunch of students with a grudge."

"Hmmph. If you don't treat your fearless leader with the respect I think I deserve, I predict you are doomed to a sad and lonely life."

"Oh, like that'll happen," Anwen scoffed. "She's not even going to have a sad and lonely night. Considering that her parents won't let an almost-nineteen-year-old have alone time with their barely-sixteen daughter over the summer, tonight is you two's last chance to be together."

The two stared at the girl, not having realized that anyone knew about their non-group time together. It got worse. "Karen first spent a night in your bed three months ago. The first month she slept with you only one more time, but that gradually increased so that in the three weeks since her birthday she's slept with you ten times, including each of the past four nights. No way will she miss tonight. Oh, and that was a very nice private birthday present you gave her. It complemented the present you gave her at her birthday party." Anwen paused, smirking at Harry and Karen's dumbfounded expressions. "What did you expect? You put me in charge of gathering information two years ago. I'm graduating, so I've had to train replacements this year. I had them practice by spying on you. If they could watch a paranoid git like you and not get caught out, they'd be fine on the idiot inbreds."

"Um, right. Good job," Harry mumbled around a near-fatal blush. "Right, then, that's one of our plans for next year that's in good shape. How about you, Frank? Books and tutors and stuff lined up for next year? Money good? I don't think I'll be able to help because I need to pay Bill's scholarship, besides starting two companies. My investments did well, but not that well."

In-school study groups were still going strong. Harry had set up a couple of university scholarships for the most advanced students. He had firmed up his plans for destroying the magical world, and a couple of minions with degrees in the medical field were an essential part of them.

"We're fine, Harry. Our collection of textbooks and self-study lesson plans is in good shape. Costs next year should be low. And if the homework business continues as it has, we should be able to contribute to the scholarship fund."

"That's great! All praise the lazy, stupid purebloods."

"Let them be praised," the group responded in joking unison.

Doing homework for pureblood students and selling cheat sheets for tests did more than earn money for the muggleborn sworn to Harry's cause. It helped ensure that the purebloods learned less and were overall less capable in life after Hogwarts. All part of the plan.

"Last thing is recruitment next year. Are you still comfortable taking that, Karen?"

"Yes, I got it, no problem. I picked up all your techniques, working with you this year."

"Oh, is that what you were doing in his dorm, working under him and learning his techniques?" Tam teased, getting good-natured laughs and cat-calls.

"OK, you comedians, I think that's enough. Let's call this meeting to a close. I don't know about you but I haven't even started packing yet."

The group broke up with a round of hugs. Harry's joy at finally leaving leaving Hogwarts was mixed with sadness that he was leaving his friends, the first friends he'd ever had. Oh, sure, they were also his followers and they'd work together for years to come, but it wouldn't be the same.

Karen did indeed sneak into his bed for their last night together, returning his invisibility cloak after looking over both shoulders the whole way up. They had no idea how she'd been caught out, but it boded well for the blackmail material that would be gathered on purebloods next year. All part of the plan.

...ooo000ooo...

_January 12, 1997_

Harry hated himself. He didn't let it show, didn't let it affect what he was doing.

Four years ago Sirius had asked him two important questions. One had an easy answer. What do you want? _I want to destroy the magical purebloods._

The answer to the other was easy to say but hard to _mean_. Much harder to follow through on. What are you willing to do to get it? _I'll do anything._

To bring down the pureblood families, to destroy the pureblood government and everything else they controlled, Harry needed allies. He needed followers and money. He needed information. Different people joined his cause for different reasons, ideological or mercenary. Different people brought different value to Harry's group, skill or information or simple willingness to do as they were told.

Millicent Bulstrode was a half-blood, one of the few in Slytherin. She wasn't willing to swear fealty to Harry but she'd help him against the purebloods for her own reasons. Even without Malfoy egging them on to greater heights of prejudice – he'd died of a potion mix-up two years before, during the confusion surrounding that totally boring and pointless Triwizard Tournament mess – she was looked down on and ignored by her "family" here, and she resented the hell out of it.

Millicent's real family was worse. Her father had gotten drunk and gotten a muggle pregnant, then refused to disown the baby, then gotten himself killed before siring a proper heir. The half-blood child was destined to be a pawn in house politics, most likely to be married off to some old widower who'd be willing to overlook her heritage and looks for the sake of getting a young baby factory, and she resented the hell out of it.

Other pureblood girls in similar positions might sleep through a series of beds, for fun or in protest or as part of playing the family alliance game.

Millicent didn't sleep through a series of beds. The shape of her face and the mass of her body blocked that means of fun or protest.

Thus, when Harry approached her for insights into any weaknesses of her house-mates and anything else she knew about pureblood families, she set a high price on her information and help. She didn't need money but she needed affection, or the semblance of affection.

Harry closed his eyes and continued making his weekly payment. He would do _anything_ to destroy the purebloods.

...ooo000ooo...

_August 1, 2004_

Harry sighed, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. He needed minions who were intelligent and motivated so they could take care of things without needing supervision every minute. The problem with intelligent, motivated minions was that they'd go and do something like this.

"Tam, Renee, what on Earth made you think I wanted you to attack the Dursleys?"

"They're terrible! They deserved it! I'd have done worse to them if I could have gotten away with it."

"And it was your birthday! We wanted to get you something special!"

Harry sighed again. "Yes, they were terrible people, but it wasn't all their fault. After I looked into it, I decided I wasn't going to do anything at all to them, and then in a few years I was going to show up in a fancy car with a happy wife and beautiful children, and look down at Dudley still living with his parents with his own fat, stupid wife and kids. It wasn't a very nice dream, but you've stomped on it."

"We're sorry we upset you, Harry."

"Go on. I'll have to think of how to punish you. Some crap job that needs to be done but no one wants, probably. We still have plenty of things to do if we're going to destroy all the purebloods."

"We're really sorry we did it. But I'm glad we're working for you, not Voldemort. I don't think I'd like being tortured every time I did something wrong."

"That, and he's dead. Can't work for a dead guy."

Harry snorted. "Go on. I'll talk to you later about your crap jobs."

...ooo000ooo...

_September 9, 1993_

Breakfast was interrupted by a small phalanx of adults marching up to the head table.

"Headmaster Dumbledore, I require the presence of Harry Potter for a murder investigation."

The monocled woman said that loudly enough that all conversation immediately stopped and all eyes turned toward Harry.

Alone in a room with six of the magical police, the second year student listened to the accusation that he'd murdered Pettigrew and sent his body to the ministry lobby.

"I don't even know where the ministry lobby is," Harry informed them, "and I haven't been allowed to leave the Hogwarts grounds since I got here. And Pettigrew has been dead for years. Everyone knows that, and I even have a letter from you, Madam Bones, telling me that you weren't interested in talking to a living Pettigrew because he's dead. So what are you accusing me of, killing a man who's been dead since I was a baby?"

"I will not tolerate anyone making a mockery of me or our justice system, Mr Potter. If you do not cooperate in this murder investigation, I won't have any choice but to confine you in a holding cell until you are ready to cooperate."

"I'm already in jail. I don't want to be here and they don't let me leave. Do your worst."

In retrospect, that was not the wisest thing to say.

Harry was in a holding cell within the hour. It was different than being at Hogwarts, but not actually any worse. No Snape, no McGonagall, none of his "family" in Gryffindor trying to inflict a bit of leftover bullying. He put the time to good use, mainly catching up on his sleep.

He also thought about the lesson he'd been taught: plan better. Plan for other people to do things you don't expect. Plan for things to go wrong.

And keep your stupid mouth shut.

When Harry had given the stunned rat to Sirius, they had expected someone from the DMLE to talk to Harry within a day. He hadn't expected whoever came to lead off with threats and to react so badly when he threw their own words in their face.

Harry took the lesson to heart. When he was taken from his cell and confronted by a good cop, bad cop pair, he was ready.

After an hour of meaningless threats ("Welcome to the real world, half-blood," the bad cop snarled. "We can keep you here forever if you don't tell us what we want to hear.") and worthless inducements ("Just tell us what you did to Pettigrew and maybe you'll be back at Hogwarts this afternoon," the good cop offered), and not a word out of Harry, he was put back in the cell.

The next day, Amelia Bones herself met Harry in the interrogation room. Harry was ready, with the ability to contact Sirius and the threat – pure bluff, actually – that if he wasn't back in Hogwarts soon, his friends would contact the newspapers.

After a short negotiation, the politically ambitious Madame Bones got a wedge to bring down the Fudge administration. Sirius would turn himself in to the DMLE with Bones's personal guarantee that he would receive a fair trial. And Harry would be sent back to Hogwarts with no investigation into his role in Pettigrew's death.

...ooo000ooo...

_September 21, 1993_

Harry crumpled the letter in his hands.

Sirius was dead.

He'd died two days after being returned to Azkaban for the crime of escaping from Azkaban. Died of natural causes, according to the DMLE.

The same DMLE who'd promised that Sirius would be safe if he turned himself in.

The same DMLE who'd promised Sirius a fair trial for the non-murder of Peter Pettigrew… and which had followed that trial with another for escaping from Azkaban.

The same DMLE which had argued before the Wizengamot that Sirius Black was not owed any compensation for twelve years of imprisonment without a trial. The emergency decrees of the late 1970s did not place a time limit on pre-trial detention, so the DMLE had done nothing wrong.

The same DMLE which claimed that Sirius should have requested a writ of habeus corpus if he felt he was imprisoned unjustly. Never mind that that very same DMLE had kept him incommunicado for twelve years.

Amelia Bones was going to die.

Harry was the sole heir of the Black wealth. Even looted as it had been, it was enough. It was enough to buy an assassination. More than one.

The members of the Wizengamot were on his list, too. And the Azkaban guards, and everyone else. But Amelia Bones was first. Her personal guarantee was the only reason Sirius had turned himself in.

Harry would talk to some of his allies. Not all would help him to plan or carry out a murder, but a few were fanatical and imaginative and willing to do anything to bring down the pureblood aristocracy.

Amelia Bones was a dead woman walking.

...ooo000ooo...

_July 30, 2019_

"Good morning, Mr Potter. Thank you for agreeing to this interview for the twentieth anniversary of Neville Longbottom's victory over He Who Must Not Be Named."

"It's my pleasure. You're not allergic to cats, are you?"

"No, it's quite alright. That is a very lovely white Persian."

"I find it soothing to stroke her when telling what I've been doing, and I have quite a bit of information I think the public needs to know, in addition to the questions you have for me."

"We are not in the habit of letting others dictate our content, Mr Potter, but you may say your piece and we'll decide if it's newsworthy."

"That's quite alright. I have no doubt you'll find it newsworthy."

"Let's get to the reason for this interview. Mr Potter, you were once hailed as the Boy Who Lived, the vanquisher of You Know Who. When the fame moved to Neville Longbottom, the Man Who Won, did you feel left behind?"

"No, Neville being the one to defeat Voldemort doesn't bother me at all. Being called the Boy Who Lived did nothing good for me when I was young. I was glad to get rid of it. I do wonder at Dumbledore showing up at just the right time and living through the fight while Neville died, but it's too late to ask Dumbledore about it now."

"You shouldn't speak ill of Mr Dumbledore. He was a hero of the wizarding world for generations. But, moving on, what have you been doing since you dropped out of sight and in particular since Mr Longbottom's victory in death?"

"Several things. I've been working primarily with muggleborn witches and wizards, helping those who have trouble fitting in to the traditional magical society. Some I've helped get jobs. Are you familiar with PB Catering, the company which uses humans at parties and other affairs? Very popular with many of the rich pureblood families. They like having muggleborn in sight, serving them, to show how much better they are."

"We'll have to edit your commentary to suit our audience, but yes, I'm familiar with them. The caterers were very thoughtful in setting aside food and drink for journalists. Is that your company?"

"Yes, Potter-Black Catering, not Pureblood Catering, as some have thought. Inheriting from my godfather let me start the company. We make a decent profit, which helps us with our other goals.

"Another thing I've been doing is promoting advanced education for muggleborn. My foundation, MBR Leg Up, Muggleborn and -Raised Leg Up, encourages all muggleborn wizards and witches to catch up with their non-magical education, then pays for advanced studies for promising students. We're particularly interested in the medical fields. We've paid for one to become a doctor, specializing in reproductive issues, and several to become nurses and medical technicians. Those are something like a healer, several medi-witches, and senior potions brewers.

"I've started another company, a clinic, which employs all of the trained medical people, as well as various support staff, all muggleborn. The Little Squirts Fertility Clinic is growing every year and turns a nice profit, which of course funds more education."

"The Little Squirts clinic? My wife and I have made use of it, twice. All reports are quite favorable and several families openly acknowledge that they would have ended without your assistance. The clinic is well worth the cost, high though it is."

"Yes, I'm very proud of my Little Squirts. We're doing several things at the same time. We're providing employment for several muggleborn witches and wizards who are discriminated against by the dying pureblood society–"

"Here now!"

"Let me finish. You'll see where I'm going. Second, as I said, it's funding the education of more muggleborn.

"And third, and most important, the fertility clinic is changing pureblood society."

"What? How do you mean?"

"To take one obvious example, pureblood families are much more open to talking about fertility services. Ten years ago, purebloods would have died rather than openly admit to having used a fertility clinic, especially one which used muggle methods. Now, you just mentioned it with no sign of discomfort.

"The second area of change is that all of the children born from my clinic are girls."

"Yes, that was noticed years ago. At first we thought it was merely odd coincidence, then we concluded that it was a result of the medical methods used."

"That's almost true. Our technicians implanted only female embryos in the pureblood clients. That is, only fertilized eggs which would become girls were used, on my orders."

"Why would you do that? What did you hope to accomplish?"

"I told you, I'm changing pureblood society. Let me finish and it should become clear.

"The final change to pureblood society is the ending of pureblood society."

"What?!"

"Stay in your seat, Mr Johnson. If you get up from your chair, you'll be stunned. If you reach for your wand, you'll be dead before your hand is out of your pocket.

"To continue, magical pureblood society in Great Britain is effectively ended. Almost all male purebloods are sterile and cannot be healed. PB Catering had been dosing party-goers with a very nasty potion for almost twenty years. No effect on women, permanent sterility on men. I'm sure we've missed a few pureblood men, especially recluses who don't go to parties, but we've gotten every one of the men and boys from the families who run society.

"If I'd simply left all the men sterile, knowledge of the problem would have spread wide enough and fast enough that pureblood men would stop eating PB Catering's food. That's why we opened the fertility clinic at about the same time and started whispers about it among pureblood witches. It was embarrassing enough that no one would talk much about it, but effective enough that people would use it and spread the word.

"The husbands of the witches who used the clinic were unable to be a part of the fertilization. Recall that they are completely sterile. Instead, semen from volunteers was used in fertilizing the eggs. Rather, semen from a single volunteer was used.

"I am the father of almost every 'pureblood' child born in Britain in the past twelve years. A few witches married overseas and got pregnant before returning and I imagine a few had affairs with non-pureblood wizards, but the rest are mine.

"I have several messages for all of my daughters. I agreed to this interview because the oldest girls are almost of an age to begin thinking about marriage and children and it's time for them to learn a few things.

"First, no pureblood male in Britain can father a child. If you want children, you'll have to either leave the islands or find a non-pureblood father.

"Second, to help you make your decision, I'm offering G500 to any of my daughters who emigrate permanently. This should be enough to let you settle in, or to add nicely to your dowry. For the girls who stay in Britain, I'll give you G500 for your dowry if you marry a muggleborn wizard and G1000 if you marry a muggle. I wish I could make it more, but I have a lot of daughters, as well as responsibilities to my employees.

"Third, I strongly advise you to be very careful of whom your children marry. You've all been raised in the pureblood magical culture, so I'm sure you all know about family lines and the perils of inbreeding, but let me emphasize that each you have over a thousand half-sisters, and that it is a very bad idea for your child to have children with a half-cousin.

"Fourth and last, my daughters, I suspect that not all of your parents will be happy now that they've learned the truth. If you feel you are in any danger from the pureblood families who raised you, get away and put a personal ad in the London _Times_, addressed to HP and asking for help. Someone will come to you. It's not a perfect system, but the best I can do.

"That concludes the messages for my daughters. I wish to give two messages to pureblood magical society: My muggleborn employees have already dropped out of sight and I will do so directly, so there's no point in outraged purebloods trying to find us to attack us. And finally, I destroyed pureblood society because it attacked me and cost me everything I had. The muggleborn joined me in droves because of pureblood prejudice. There was nothing in pureblood culture worth saving. To hell with you all."

* * *

**Author's Note**: Harry did much the same here as in "The Obligatory Marriage Law Fic", making sure there would be no next generation of purebloods, but here he did it in a saner fashion. For a sufficiently inclusive definition of "saner".


End file.
